


More Than Legend

by shcherbatskayas



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Abusive Parents, Canon implied self esteem issues taken to logical extremes, F/F, Field Trip, Paris Fashion Week, Reserve Course AU, Tsumugi is too gay to live, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shcherbatskayas/pseuds/shcherbatskayas
Summary: Or, the story of how Tsumugi Shirogane had her first makeout session with the woman she would spend the rest of her life with in a dressing room at Paris Fashion Week on her birthday.





	More Than Legend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheinsaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheinsaw/gifts).



> It's 1 am. I love Tsumugi Shirogane and Reserve Course AUs. She's my baughter (bi daughter). All mistakes are mine bc I'm too lazy to beta a thing I wrote in three hours that was only supposed to be 1k and also it's 1 am. I need sleep.
> 
> For jan and hanna, the biggest maid costumes enablers ever

The sign hangs in the hallway between homerooms 78-A and 78-B, loud and ostentatious and clearly written in Angie’s handwriting. _Visit Paris!_ it advertises above a drawing of the Eiffel Tower. _40 Spots Available! More Information In The Reserve Course Office!_

Tsumugi passes by it every morning for a week without even thinking about it. Paris would be nice to visit, sure, but she wouldn’t have much of a group to go with and field trips _always_ require groups. She would just be a burden and she would miss a lot of schoolwork and possibly even a con or two. It would be better for her not to go, so she avoids thinking about Paris.

That is, until Tenko approaches her on a Thursday morning, a stack of papers in hand. “Tsumugi-chan!” She greets, waving the paper in front of her face. 

“Good morning, Chabashira-san!” Tsumugi says, mustering a cheerfulness that isn’t quite genuine, but genuine enough to get her through a conversation without any problems. It’s a bit too early for actual cheerfulness, and she hasn’t had any coffee yet. 

Tenko slides into the desk next to her, the one that actually belongs to Saihara, but he isn’t here yet and Tenko doesn’t seem to care about proper seating. “Tenko was wondering if you were going to Paris! Himiko, Kirumi, Angie, Miu, and Tenko need another person, and who is more perfect for fashionable Paris than fashionable Tsumugi-chan with all of her cosplays?! We’ll be going during fashion week, too! Perfect for Tsumugi-chan, eh?”

“I don’t think fashion shows are quite the same as cosplays…” She says, and Tenko’s face drops immediately. Tsumugi feels guilt well up in her chest and knows that not only is this bad because it hurt Tenko’s feelings, but it also makes her look mean and cruel and a variety of things that the Tsumugi she portrays is not supposed to be. “But it couldn’t hurt to check it out and see! I’ll ask my parents tonight if I can go.”

“Really? Thank you soooooooo much, Tsumugi-chan!” Tenko wraps her arms around Tsumugi and squeezes hard enough that her shoulder sting for the rest of the day. “Say, do you think Himiko-chan would kiss me under the Eiffel Tower if I asked her to? I really, really want to kiss her under the Eiffel Tower!”

“I think so. I mean, aren’t you two already dating?” Tsumugi frowns, hoping that her assumption wasn’t wrong. Before Tenko can address this assumption, Saihara enters the classroom and the bell rings and class begins. In between a lecture on the political climate of sixteenth century Japan, Tsumugi reads the papers on Paris. 

***  
Asking her parents for anything has always been an ordeal. They were the ones who created perfect, polite, princesss-like Tsumugi, and so her act has to be absolutely perfect in order to get what she wants. She spends all day mentally going through what she’ll say when she calls them, practicing the faces she needs to make and preparing answers to what they’ll ask. Their homeroom teacher calls on her three times before giving up on getting her out of her reverie. She forgets to eat lunch until people start throwing away their trays, already having completed their meals. She reads the papers again as she walks down the hall to get back to class and runs headfirst into Gonta, who accidentally knocks her down and then nearly cries while he apologies. Eventually, in between afternoon lessons, Kirumi sits down next to her with a concerned look on her face. 

“Shirogane-san, are you feeling alright?” She asks, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “You look pale.”

Tsumugi almost doesn’t notice her and when she finally processes that Kirumi Toujou is talking to her, she blinks rapidly and shakes her head. “Oh, I’m fine! Just a little bit spaced out today. Thank you for your concern!” 

“It’s truly no problem.” She says, and then rests a hand on Tsumugi’s forehead for a second before pulling it away. “You don’t appear to have a temperature, which is good. Illness can mostly be ruled out, then. Did you eat during lunch?”

“Mhmm.” Tsumugi confirms, oddly distracted by the brief sensation of Kirumi’s hand on her face. It felt nice. Her hands were a little calloused, but they were gentle. The part of Tsumugi that was less polite and exactly zero percent heterosexual wanted to hold her hand to see what that was like, but she held back. “I wasn’t particularly hungry, but it’s good to eat.”

“Maybe you need some water then. Hold on.” Before Tsumugi can protest (Really, she’s fine, she drank plenty), Kirumi gets up and starts rifling through her bag. Kirumi is always so kind to her, even when no one is paying attention to either of them, and it’s equal parts confusing and comforting. She knows she ought to stay cautious around her, to stay cautious around all of them, but Kirumi makes the work of concealing herself and what she wants very difficult. 

She returns with a full bottle of water and hands it to Tsumugi. “You really didn’t have to give me your water.” She says, tilting her head to the side. “But thank you! You’re so kind, Toujou-san.”

Kirumi smiles, which isn’t something she does often, but her eyes crinkle at the corners when she does and her lips look so soft and pillowy and Tsumugi could look at her smile forever. She saves the mental image and misses everything she says, far too distracted by that smile to catch all of Kirumi’s humble deflections. “It’s what anyone would do.” Tsumugi manages to comprehend. 

“But no one else did. You shouldn’t talk yourself down, Toujou-san.” She says, and Kirumi actually blushes. It’s so cute that Tsumugi presses a hand to her mouth to keep from squealing. 

“Please make sure to take care of yourself.” Kirumi says, her voice barely a whisper. “And hopefully we’ll be able to go to Paris together.” 

She heads back to her own desk after that and once she’s turned away, Tsumugi lets herself break out into a grin. In a day of stressful memorization, at least there was one shining moment of Kirumi Toujou. Her subtle blushes and tiny smiles could outshine the sun.

***  
Tsumugi calls her parents at 7:16 sharp, locking the door to her dorm room to keep out her roommate. Natsumi, as fun as she is, is extremely loud and not above commenting on her phone calls while they’re in progress, and she wants to avoid that happening tonight. The chances of her coming back are low since she’s hanging out with her girlfriends until about 9:30 (Thursdays are always hangout night in Mahiru’s dorm), but it’s a precaution Tsumugi feels the need to take anyhow. 

Her mother answers the phone. Tsumugi can see her sitting in the living room, a book on her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. “Ah, Tsumugi-san! How lovely to hear from you!” She says, the effort of being kind to her daughter straining her voice. Her parents were never interested in her, but they managed to try. They weren’t good at it, but Tsumugi didn’t see the need to complain too much about it. At least they had stopped hitting her. 

“Hi, Mom!” She returned, sitting down on her bed and forcing herself to smile until her cheeks hurt. “How was your day today?” 

Tsumugi listens to her mother’s rant about work and her father’s uselessness with the patience of a saint. She comments when necessary, asks questions in the pauses, and clucks her tongue sympathetically every time her mother says something she clearly wanted sympathy for. It was a complicated dance, and the wrong step at the wrong time could causes everything to blow up in her face. Over the years, she had gotten good at it, but she still sometimes made amateur mistakes. 

After twenty minutes, her mother finished up her rant and sighed. “And how was your day, sweetheart?”

“It was good!” She began, glancing nervously at the door before forcing herself to regain her normal polite demeanor. “We did a lot of trigonometry today and that was interesting. There’s a study session on Saturday afternoon that I’ll probably go to. Oh, and Chabashira-san asked me to join her group for the trip to Paris.”

“Paris?” Her mother asks, her tone going cold. Now the conversation was straight business, in which her mother could express her anger at possibly having to pay and Tsumugi could not express her anger at the tap dancing she had to go through to get her to help. “How much does Paris cost?”

“88,000 yen, but with fundraising I can do, it’d be lowered to 30,000.”

“And how much money do you have from whatever those cosplay people pay you to pay for this?”

“About 15,000 yen.”

“So I would need to give you 15,000 yen to pay for this, plus whatever pocket money you would need.”

“Yes, but I would open the commissions queue and pay you back within the month!”

“And when is this money due?”

“April 5th.”

“And the trip is from…?”

“August 7th to August 17th.”

“You would be in Paris for both of our birthdays.”

“Yes, but along with what I was already planning to get you, I could get you something in Paris!” 

“...I’ll forward you 15,000 tomorrow and 30,000 in pocket money for the trip. You best not touch that 30,000 until you’re in Paris though, do you hear me? And you’re not getting a birthday present.”

“This is present enough!” Tsumugi forces herself to keep smiling, but a poor kid from the elementary course walked by beneath her window and was so startled by that wide, empty smile he saw inside that he ran to get out of her sights. “And I understand.”

“Good. Now come April 31st, I better have an extra 15,000 yen in my bank account.” Before Tsumugi could thank her, her mother hung up the phone. She let out a sigh of relief and flops down on her bed. Natsumi finds her two hours later, fast asleep in her school uniform and muttering something about the sea eating her and 15,000 yen. She rolls her eyes and throws a pile of blankets over her roommate and wonders how many times she would have to hear her talk in her sleep about whatever happened at the shore or the house by the mountains or the basement without ever actually knowing the full truth. But in the end, Natsumi figures that the full truth doesn’t matter. The pieces give her enough. 

***  
The announcement that she can go to Paris goes over well. Tenko and Angie hug Tsumugi while Miu starts talking about escargot and French boys. Himiko yawns and starts asking about room arrangements in a half-interested voice. Kirumi smiles at her from across the room and nods once. Tsumugi nods back and sinks into her desk. Paris, she figures, will be an adventure. 

Then there’s the news of fashion week. Tsumugi finds it out a month after she confirms that she’s going that not only will they be in Paris during fashion week, but they’ll actually be going to a fashion show on her birthday. 

“Tsumugi-chan’s favorite thing on Tsumugi-chan’s favorite day!” Tenko says when she notices 

“Maybe they’ll let her go on stage with a cosplay or something…” Himiko wonder aloud, rolling a pen between her fingers.

“I doubt it!” Angie says, her voice chipper and perfectly kind. “She isn’t a pro!”

“I’m just excited to see the models tbh.” Miu shrugged. 

“...Did you just say ‘tbh’?” Himiko asked, blinking owlishly. 

During a discussion of abbreviations and how they should be said, Kirumi looked over at Tsumugi. “Is cosplaying like fashion shows?” She asked. 

“Well, cosplaying is all about love for a character. You do it because you love the show, the characters, the design…And you want to share that love, right? That’s why I do it. And fashion shows...Well, I don’t know much about them.” Tsumugi admits. 

“I imagine that’s similar.” Kirumi says. “But instead of with fictional worlds, it’s for this one and the people who live in it.”

“Maybe.” Tsumugi says. “I guess I’ll have to look into it.”

“I guess.” 

And so she does.

***  
Sixty Google tabs, more than a few sleepless nights, and a full notebook later, Tsumugi is in the world of fashion as well. Kirumi’s analysis was pretty on the mark about love and people, but Tsumugi discovered something even more delightful: Like with animes, she could make her own interpretations of each outfit, about what each one meant and what sort of person wore it. She makes a million worlds for each dress and then doodles a million dresses for each world. She thinks of a dress for a go-getter girl in the 1960’s, a fashionable baseball player from Kobe, a foreign exchange student from Vietnam who's involved in a dramatic love affair. The outfits and her cosplays dominated the margins of her schoolwork and the back of her hands. Natsumi, ever present and ever interested in aesthetics, serves as commentary for some of her work. 

In May, Tsumugi gets an idea. She should make outfits for her group for when they go! She arrives in class one day with a measuring tape and a notebook and orders Miu to stand on a chair. She measures the length of her arms from shoulder to elbow, the inseam of her leg from knee to ankle, the space around her waist, the distance from her neck to her shoulder, everything she can think of. Tsumugi calls out numbers and Kirumi writes each of them down, watching the spectacle with amazement. Shy, quiet Tsumugi goes away and the true Tsumugi comes out. This Tsumugi is confident in her field and isn’t afraid to tell others what to do. She is knowledgeable and clever and beautiful and so _present_ that she almost overwhelms Kirumi. Watching her go about her work is like standing on the edge of a hurricane. 

Kirumi’s turn comes in a morning break. “Toujou-san, can I borrow you for a minute?” Tsumugi asks, holding out her yellow measuring tape. She nods and stands up on the chair without being asked. Tsumugi smiles and starts rushing around, handing over her notebook and calling out numbers to a very flustered Saihara. 

As she goes through the motions, Tsumugi can’t help but be in awe of Kirumi. She finds the flow of things easily and barely needs to be asked to do anything. It’s like she can predict what Tsumugi will say before she opens her mouth. The whole exercise is a convenient excuse to touch her, to run her hands over the surface of her arms and the back of her kneecaps and a million other strange places. When Tsumugi feels as if she’s overheating, Kirumi’s skin is comfortingly cool. She takes her time, stretches the measurements over two breaks, much to Saihara’s distress. Tsumugi realizes that it isn’t proper of her to be making a scene like this, to be bothering other classmates or to be telling them what to do, but she doesn’t mind. There’s work to be done here

***  
“This one? Or this one?” Tsumugi asks Kirumi one June Saturday, holding out her notebook. At first, she was sheepish about showing Kirumi her designs for the Paris dresses, afraid that she would mock her or judge her mistakes, but she is patient and kind and hasn’t posted her ugly ones on a cringe compilation blog like the last person she trusted with her doodles did back in middle school. She never quite lived that down. 

“Hm…Both of them are beautiful, but I think the neckline on the second one would look better on Angie than the first.” She says, pointing to the sketch in question. 

“I was thinking that one, too! I feel like the yellow is a good color for her, too. It fits her whole sunshiney artist theme.” Tsumugi opens a drawer in her dorm room and pulls out the yellow she plans on using. “This color just screamed Angie Yonaga when I saw it, you know?”

“I think she’ll love it.” Kirumi agrees, looking at the scattered mannequins and fabric around the room. The one that holds the dress that Tsumugi is making for her is covered by a tarp because of the element of surprise that she insisted was important. Although she was curious, Kirumi took the vow that she was not to look at it very seriously and didn’t peak, not even once. Any violation of Tsumugi’s trust would have her on the outs immediately, and being on close terms with Tsumugi Shirogane was an honor she didn’t know of anyone else having. Beneath the politeness, Kirumi figured out that she didn’t trust any of them and so being given this little bit of trust was like being given a Faberge egg. Kirumi wasn’t cruel or careless enough to go around breaking Faberges. 

Two of the dresses were complete. Miu’s was a pink and black number, sexy and flirty and incredibly playful. Just looking at it, Kirumi could hear her laughter. She remembered Tsumugi saying that she designed it with that laugh in mind. The other finished one was Himiko’s. It took three days and nights of no sleep for Tsumugi to be satisfied with the skirt, and the only reason it didn’t take four was because Kirumi threatened to put an Ambien in Tsumugi’s coffee if she didn’t sleep. The fabric had a playing card pattern and she had agonized over getting it to move like playing cards would move if they were fanned out. Through some miracle, she managed to do that, although Kirumi didn’t quite understand how.

While Tsumugi worked on Angie’s dress, Kirumi did what she normally did, even though Tsumugi reminded her a million times that she didn’t have to: She cleaned. The colony of coffee cups and energy drinks found their home in the trash and the dust was wiped off the windowsill and the schoolwork that was strewn across the desk was organized neatly into piles. Normally, she charged for cleaning, but something about Tsumugi made it impossible for Kirumi to ask. She analyzed it for ages and came to the conclusion that it was because Tsumugi was making her a dress and always insisted on paying for her lunch and in the course of all of their shared meals, it would’ve covered what Kirumi would’ve charged. That was clearly the only reason why. It certainly had nothing to do with a giant crush on a girl who religiously attended her soccer games despite not knowing what position anyone was or how long a soccer game took but came because she thought Kirumi deserved the support. It had absolutely nothing to do with that. 

“Toujou-san, do you think you can hand me the box of pins to your...I think it would be your left? It’s my right.” She explained, waving a hand at it before submerging herself into canary yellow fabric once again. Kirumi handed it to her and picked up a spare fashion magazine. She leafed through it idly, chuckling at Tsumugi’s margin notes about how she thought certain designers were raging, colorblind assholes who probably gave smallpox to small children for fun. Most of them were critical, but she noticed a pattern among the ones that were surrounded by hearts and then eventually started noticing the appearance of the same names. That was when she got a great idea for a birthday present, an idea so great that she started writing down the names immediately.

***  
The day before summer break, Tsumugi shows up at Kirumi’s dorm, holding out an item on a hanger hidden by a large black bag. “You have to try it on.” She says, foregoing any greetings and shoving it at Kirumi. “And if you hate it, just tell me! I can whip up something else, no problem!” Tsumugi keeps smiling, making a list of things to say if Kirumi hates it. She would not cry in front of Kirumi, but certainly would later. She’d probably say something like “Oh, I ought to have consulted you, forgive me for being so silly and unprofessional!” Yes, that was good. That was polite. It was what a proper young lady would’ve said. 

Tsumugi stands outside while Kirumi changes, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits. Maki passes and nods when Tsumugi waves at her. A minor success on the socialization front. 

“You can come in.” Kirumi calls out, and Tsumugi opens the door carefully. Kirumi is standing in front of the mirror, examining the dress with wide, glittering eyes. The dress is black, but there’s silvery lining in the lace that looks like a spider’s web and glitters in the sun. She spins once, twice, a third time before looking at Tsumugi with the same amazed expression. 

“Do you like it?” She asks, wringing her hands. Kirumi rushes forward and hugs her, putting Tsumugi’s head on her shoulder. She can smell Kirumi’s perfume. It’s soft and lilac-y and makes her feel like she just climbed into bed after a long day and no longer had any worries in the world. 

“I love it, Tsumugi-san.” She whispers. “I can’t possibly thank you enough. A thousand birthday presents couldn’t make up for something like this.” 

“This is present enough.” Tsumugi says and this time, she more than means it.

***  
The airport is old and stuffy and weird and Tsumugi finds Kirumi standing in the security line, a frown on her face as she checks her phone three times in one minute. Line-skipping is rude, but she sends Kirumi a quick text that says _turn around!!!!_ and waves enthusiastically when she does. She doesn’t expect Kirumi to go back fifty spaces and at least half an hour in the line to join her. 

“Kirumi-san!” Tsumugi says, deciding to take a risk and go for a hug. It’s a risk that pays off because Kirumi doesn’t hesitate in hugging her back. “How’s your summer been going?”

“It’s been good. A bit dull compared to Hope’s Peak, but it’s nice to have a little break from some of our more...more _energetic_ classmates.” She says, tilting her head in the direction of Ouma, who is currently trying to con the shoes off of an Italian businessman. “How have you been?”

“You can say that again.” She snickers when Ouma receives a stomp on the foot for his troubles and walks away clutching his foot. “And it’s been...it’s been alright.” Tsumugi glances back and sees her parents walking away. Kirumi’s eyes follow them and she frowns again. In her somewhat vague texts about her home life, Kirumi figured out that Tsumugi wasn’t fond of her parents. She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk about it, so she didn’t ask. 

“Mom’s mad because I’ll be Paris during her birthday.” Tsumugi offers her this tidbit of information unprompted, a rare thing for her to do on matters other than anime or fashion or Hope’s Peak. “I told her I would buy her extra gifts in Paris and make her a cake and she said she was fine with it originally, but…” She shrugs, and Kirumi rests a hand on her shoulder. 

“I’m sure she won’t be upset for long, especially since you offered to get her an extra present, and if she is, and excuse me if I’m being too blunt, but then she’s entirely ridiculous.” Kirumi blurts out, unable to hold herself back from saying something biting about someone who was causing Tsumugi distress. 

Tsumugi considers the words for a bit, and then nods in agreement. “Yeah, I guess she is. But what was that whole Tokyo thing you texted me about? How did you even end up in Tokyo? I thought you lived way up north!”

They wait in line together, shoulders touching as they exchange stories about their break and fall back into the comfortable rhythm of intimacy. 

***  
The night of the fashion show is warm, but there’s a nice breeze in the air that keeps it from being sweltering hot. Tsumugi watches everyone get in the dresses she made and smiles as they go around complementing each other and then even stopping to complement her. It’s a little vain, but she can afford a little vanity. It is her birthday, after all. She wanders around and helps Miu with her hair and Tenko with her shoes and Himiko with doing things in general, and in the meantime, she noticed Kirumi on the phone with someone, saying something about backstage and midnight and how really, she can’t thank her enough. Tsumugi raises an eyebrow at her, but Kirumi presses a finger to her lips and Tsumugi doesn’t ask again. 

They take up the whole second row of the fashion show and Tsumugi looks through the program, unabashedly excited. “I think the third line will be the best one, but all of these designers are really good. Really, really good.” She says to Angie on her left and then to Kirumi on her right. They both agree with her analysis, although Kirumi does it with the slightest hint of a smirk. 

Tsumugi’s analysis ends up being right. All of the lines are objectively good, even if she isn’t a fan of the neon orange that Dumont used so much, but the Hayashida summer line knocks it out of the park. The swirly decals on the sleeves must’ve taken hours and each dress and shoe and pair of pants is intricately designed and beyond stunning. She gasps out loud more than once, tapping Kirumi on the shoulder to point out little details with the excitement of a kid let loose in a candy store. 

Once the show is over, they get to mingle among people and eat French catering. Tsumugi is making a killing at the shrimp table when Kirumi taps her on the shoulder. “Do you want to see your birthday present?” She asks.

“You got me a present?” Tsumugi tilts her head to the side, not quite believing it. 

“Of course I did.” Kirumi says, holding out her hand. Tsumugi takes it and Kirumi leads her through the crowd. They get stopped no less than three times by people asking who made Kirumi’s dress and Tsumugi always blushed as she admitted it. By the time they make it to the backstage door, she has two business cards tucked neatly into her purse. 

Kirumi knocks three times on the door and it’s answered by a very stressed assistant holding six bottles of hair spray. “Are you Miss Toujou?” She asks in French, and Kirumi nods. “Thank God. Aoi is down the hall.”

They walk down the hall and Tsumugi can’t stop looking at the various dresses on racks and the models in chairs and the makeup artists who almost mistake her for a wayward client. “Kirumi-san, when that woman said Aoi, she didn’t mean Aoi Hayashida, did she?”

Kirumi gestures down the hall with her free hand before smiling back at Tsumugi. “By chance, she did.”

Tsumugi cares little for restraint after that and all but runs, dragging Kirumi behind her until they meet Aoi Hayashida. She’s shorter than Tsumugi expected, but there’s a kindness and sharpness in her eyes that makes Tsumugi feel like she ought to bow to her. 

“Ah, Toujou-san! I take it this is the birthday girl?” She asks, smiling at the pair of girls in front of her. 

“She is. Tsumugi-san, meet Aoi Hayashida. Hayashida-san, this is Tsumugi Shirogane.” Kirumi introduces them and then watches as they shake hands. 

“It’s such an honor to meet you, Hayashida-san! Your work is really an inspiration and everything tonight was so beautiful!” Tsumugi gushes. “The pink chiffon on the fourth dress was stunning and the sixth one? Everything about the sixth one?. That shade of blue is beyond perfect, especially with the gold decals on the bottom. I could stare at it for a thousand years, truly.”

“That’s convenient, because a certain Toujou-san bought that one for you.” Aoi says, pulling it off the rack. “Size two, am I right?”

“A certain Toujou-san did _what?_ ” Tsumugi turns towards her and Kirumi shrugs sheepishly. 

“She did. She also commissioned two dresses especially for you. I owed her a favor after her help cleaning up a few shows in 2014 and then doing a few this year for free. It was the least I could do.” Aoi hands her the dress and Tsumugi takes it, cradling it to her chest like it’s her firstborn child. 

“You didn’t!” She says, a grin splitting her face in two. 

“I did.” Kirumi admits. 

“You did?!”

“I did.”

“You bought me a Hayashida?!”

“I did. And I commissioned you two. They’re the only two of those dresses in the world.”

“You _commissioned me a Hayashida?_?!”

“I did.”

“A _costum Hayashida?!_ ”

“I did.”

“ _Two of them?!_ ”

“Mhmm.”

“Kirumi-san!” Tsumugi almost drops the dress in the rush to hug her. She held Kirumi tight and peppered her cheeks with kisses, hardly able to understand her own babbling about Hayashidas and how amazing Kirumi was. 

“Do you want to see them?” Kirumi asks once Tsumugi finished her attack of hugs and kisses, which left Kirumi breathless and covered in purple lipstick. 

“YES!” She declares, following Aoi as she lead her to a dressing room. In it hung two dresses. The first was one she could wear every day, a white one with golden buttons that fell above the knee. The skirt was made up of the infamous sheer Hayashida swirls and just touching it made Tsumugi feel like the queen of the world. The second commissioned dress was a certifiable ball gown, high waisted and airy and a beautiful shade of cotton candy blue. She could tell by looking at it how it would move like she was gliding, how it must’ve taken hours, how it was like something out of a fairy tale. She pressed the fabric to her cheek and stood there for a minute, trying to comprehend exactly how she had gotten here. At some point, Aoi left to go back to the show. 

“I’m changing into this one.” Tsumugi says, still unable to believe that it was actually hers. Kirumi nodded and turned around. Once she was in the dress, Tsumugi stares at herself in the mirror. She still can’t quite believe that the beautiful, happy girl she saw in the mirror was actually her, but there she was. She spun a few times, laughing just because she could. “You can turn around now!”

Kirumi smiles when she sees Tsumugi, perfectly content to stand there and stare at her for a few thousand years. “You look amazing.” She says. “More than amazing.”

“Thank you so much!” Tsumugi spins again and then takes a step towards Kirumi, and then another. “You’re incredible.”

“It’s really nothing.” Kirumi says. 

“It’s really everything.” Tsumugi says. Before Kirumi could cut her off, Tsumugi pressed a kiss to her lips. 

Later, the story of how Tsumugi Shirogane had her first makeout session with the woman she would spend the rest of her life with in a dressing room at Paris Fashion Week on her birthday would become a highly doubted legend both in Hope’s Peak and in the world of fashion, but right then, it was more than legend. It was true.


End file.
